Free
by gracebrisbane
Summary: Eadlyn Schreave finds out she's going to have a Selection. But 35 boys is not exactly what she was hoping for. Coming out fic.


"Princess Eadlyn?" Wendy, my maid, asks, peeking her head in the garden.

"Yes?" I call, too focused to look at her. The light today is glorious, and I need to get as many photos as I can before dinner.

"Your parents are requesting your presence," Wendy says in the softest voice. She's always been rather quiet.

"Is it important?" I ask, snapping a photo of a bird as it takes flight. I look at the developing picture and grimace; too blurry. I try again, though the bird's much farther away now. "Could you tell them I'm busy?"

"No, my lady. They said they need you immediately," she replies. I peel my eyes from the lens and look at her, raising an eyebrow. She shrugs pityingly, knowing how much I long for some free time.

"Thanks, Wen," I murmur as she opens the door for me. "Could you take this back to my room?" I ask, handing her the camera. "Be careful."

"I always am, Princess," she smiles, just before heading in the opposite direction. I head down to my father's office, taking my time though I know I should rush. They didn't send a guard so it can't be _that _serious, right?

"Ah, Eadlyn! Just in time," Dad says as I step inside. He's leaning back in his chair, a stack of papers in his hands. His reading glasses are resting on the tip of his nose, but he takes them off as soon as I walk in. My mother is sitting in an armchair, flipping through a file folder.

"What's going on?" I ask, taking a seat on the sofa. "Wendy said it was important."

"Nothing's wrong, honey," Mom says, leaning forward in her seat. Her smile instantly soothes me, and I realize nothing here is wrong. "We just have some things to talk to you about."

"Like . . . ?"

"Like your Selection," Dad says, resting his arms on his desk.

"What?" I laugh. "But shouldn't Ahren be getting a Selection? He's actually a boy; I'm not."

"Just because you're a girl doesn't mean you can't have a Selection," my mother says, shrugging.

"Um, yeah it kind of does. No girl in _history _has had one."

"Well, we are quite famous for ignoring tradition," she smiles, winking at my father. "Besides, you're the oldest, so you're the first heir to the throne."

I ponder that for a second, trying to realize what they were saying. I always assumed Ahren would be king, and that I'd be married off to some foreign prince like a prize. But I should've known my parents would never have allowed that. "Okay, fine. I'll have a Selection, I guess. What do I have to do?"

"We'll publicize your selection and have all eligible men submit their applications. Then we'll sort through them together and narrow them down to a group of 35," my father explains, as if it's common knowledge.

And then it hits me.

Eligible _men. _

Shit.

My parents notice the sick look on my face, and my mother worriedly says, "Honey, it'll be fine. We'll get through it together."

"It's nothing to be afraid of," Dad adds.

"No, it's not that . . ." I trail off, unsure of how to tell them. I knew I should've said something earlier, but I didn't know how. Ahren knows, of course. We tell each other everything. But my parents? They're too busy running a country to follow my love life (or lack thereof).

"Then what is it?" Mom asks, moving over to sit next to me on the couch. "If you're not ready to get married, it's al-"

"No, Mom. It's not that," I say again, frustrated. I'd be fine getting married now, even having a Selection. I've grown up my entire life knowing I would marry when I was of age, and it's now that time. And a Selection doesn't seem so bad. But how do I tell them that I won't be searching for a King, but a _Queen?_

"What is it, Eades?" Dad asks, coming over as well. He places a gentle hand on my shoulder and I look away, embarrassed.

"You know you can tell us anything," my mother whispers. I nod silently.

I'm not ready.

I didn't think I'd have to be for at least a few months.

I can't do this.

I'm going to throw up.

"Guards, please step out for a minute," my father says, though I barely register it. I hear the sound of swords clanging against thighs and the distinct _click _of the door as it shuts. "We're all alone now, dear. Tell us what's wrong."

I take a deep breath and focus on a singular spot on the wall. I stare at it, long and hard, and just pretend that I'm talking to Ahren. He was so calm when I told him, so understanding. He held onto me as I cried, that night, just being with me, a silent supporter.

But Ahren is just naturally calming. He's my twin, my brother. We can practically read each other's minds. But my parents . . . they're not so easy to relate to. They're the famous couple of Illéa, the ones who changed the caste system and ended the war. The two who fell in love against all odds. They have a perfect love story, and I have . . . this.

I take another breath and stare at that spot, imaging Ahren there. "If I have a Selection, it will have to be different," I start.

"Different how? Do you want less boys, longer time, more t-" my mother lists possibilities, but I shake my head.

"No, I don't want more boys. I want . . . none," I choke out, feeling my head start to stir.

"Do you mean you've already found someone? In that case there's no _need _for a Selection," my father begins, sounding thrilled.

"No, Dad, I just-" I take a long breath, calming myself. _I love you, Eadlyn. Nothing will change that. Especially not this. _I remember the words Ahren said to me that night, let my lungs relax. "My Selection would be different, because . . . because . . ." I'm crying now, I know. I can feel the hot tears dripping down my cheeks, dropping onto my new dress. I bite my lip and my mother wraps an arm around my waist. I have a feeling she knows what I'm about to say, though I know my father is oblivious. He can never interpret crying girls. "Because it wouldn't be 35 boys. It would be . . . I mean, I would _want _35 . . . girls."

Mom's grip on me tightens and I can hear Dad gasp.

"Oh," he says, nodding his head awkwardly. "You mean, you're-"

"Yes, Dad," I say, too scared to look at him, to see the disappointment on his face.

"Oh," he repeats, staring blankly ahead. My mother saves me from having to say something else, thank God, wrapping me in her arms and squeezing me tight.

"Eadlyn, I'm so proud of you," she whispers into my hair. "You're going to make a wonderful Queen."

"But . . . I can't still be Queen, can I?" I ask, too afraid to lift my head from her comforting chest.

"Of course you can," Dad says, shocking me. I expected him to be totally against this, totally against _me. _But is it possible he isn't? "Nothing has to change." He turns to look at me and gives me a slight smile. My mother's grip loosens and I fall into my father's arm. He cradles me like a baby, but I don't care. "I love you, Eadlyn."

"I love you, too, Dad," I mumble into his shirt. He rubs my back and I lean into him, grateful for his understanding. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Mom asks, with an obvious frown in her voice. "Eadlyn, you don't have anything to apologize for."

I shake my head, pulling away from my dad's embrace. "I'm ruining everything. There won't be a King or any heirs or . . I don't even know. If you want, I'll marry some guy, I can do it, I'll-"

"Eadlyn, look at me," my father says, grabbing me by the shoulders. "I want you to be happy, dear. I want you to marry whoever you want to. I want you to fall in love with the girl of your dreams."

"But-"

"But nothing. Illéa's adjusted nicely to a lot of things. I'm sure they can handle having two Queens."

And at that I laugh, a real, honest laugh that I wasn't expecting. And I feel happy. I feel free.

* * *

><p><strong>So I wrote this because I'm really hoping either Eadlyn or Ahren will be lgbt. I just think it'd be a super great thing to incorporate into the Heir. Hopefully Kiera is on the same paige. I mean the slogan is "35 <em>suitors<em>" not 35 _men _or _boys. _Who knows? Either way, this is just my take on how Eadlyn would come out to her parents. It's not my best fic, but I wanted to write something. Let me know what you think. **


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